SPN FIC - But You Kiss Me When You're Drunk
A little downtime at the motel, a chance to watch TV. A show called "My Strange Addiction." Good for the lolz, right? People and their batshit craziness. Except when the crazy hits a little too close to home.
"I do NOT --" Dean protests. "And I NEVER --"
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 696 words
BUT YOU KISS ME WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK
By Carol Davis
Why do they bother working so hard to save anybody, he wonders, if the entire population is completely batshit crazy?
"Dude," Sam chides when Dean voices the question in the middle of the latest episode of My Strange Addiction.
Dean blinks at him.
Sam hikes an eyebrow.
"What?" Dean complains.
"You're gonna make judgments about a guy who's in love with his car? You?"
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again, because there's just no good way to respond to that. To any comparison between his…
Sam's eyebrow is still arched.
"You named the car," Sam says, flipping up an index finger. His middle finger pops up to join it as he continues. "You buy gifts for the car." Another finger. "You talk to the car. You have, in fact, been known to croon to the car."
Dean stares at him. "You suck," he announces.
It seems like a sufficient comeback.
The nutball on TV is talking again: a voiceover to footage of him tenderly kissing and caressing his car. This show's always been good for a laugh, Dean mourns - it focuses on people who eat sofa cushions, or cat food, or baby powder, surround themselves with teddy bears, or spend all their waking hours looking for roadkill to bury - though it always gives rise to that great philosophical question: are he and Sam risking their lives, time after time, just so these fruit loops can carry on with the crazy?
But tonight? Tonight, he should have opted for watching Snooki & JWoww instead. He kind of likes Snooki. She's a little off the beaten path, her own particular brand of pie-eyed crazy, but she reminds him of a chubby little dark-haired waitress, a nice little neighborhood bar, a weekend when he was nineteen and he and Dad and Sam were still a unit. Fractious, but a unit.
The freakin' guy's licking his car.
"I do NOT -" Dean protests. "And I NEVER -"
He full expects Sam to cave, because this nonsense is over the line. In fact, it's not only over the line, it's all the way down the road into a whole other state.
But Sam just smirks.
"You SUCK," Dean informs him.
Sam points to the TV.
The guy's…
What the HELL.
He's gonna hump the car.
Finding the remote takes way too long. Circuits blown, Dean frantically thumbs buttons, raising and lowering the volume, pulling up the COLOR BALANCE menu, then the closed captioning. By the time he manages to change the channel, his brain is blatting at him like the alert signal for the Emergency Broadcast System.
The next channel up, thank you GOD, is a cooking show.
"Duuuuuuude," he moans. "That crazy son of a bitch was -"
"Uh-huh," Sam concurs, and takes a long, apparently refreshing, pull of his beer. "But, you know, it kind of makes sense. He doesn't need to worry about unplanned pregnancy. Although… it might be kind of cute. Little bouncing baby Smart Car. Go-cart, maybe. Mini-bike…"
All Dean can do is stare.
"There's something wrong with you," he tells his brother.
"All relative," Sam replies.
"I do not. And I NEVER. I have sex with women, you asshat."
He's hyperventilating, he realizes. Which might be some form of that "protesting too much" that Sam cites to now and then.
And Sam's still smirking.
In fact, Sam's still smirking when Dean emerges from the bathroom after twenty minutes of washing the skeeve off himself in a steaming hot shower. It didn't exactly work; his brain's still full of images of that freakazoid kissing his car. For all he knows, he'll dream about unnatural acts with cars all night long.
It's enough to make a guy swear off sleep.
But the universe is kind, now and then. Turns out there's a marathon of My Strange Addiction on tonight, and when Sam flips the channel back to TLC, hoping to find something he can use to continue tweaking Dean, the host is talking to a chick who's hooked on drinking urine.
The way Sam's face drains of color?
CLASSIC.
"Relative," Dean calls out as Sam flees into the bathroom. "Definitely, dude. The crazy? It's all relative."
* * * * *
"I do NOT --" Dean protests. "And I NEVER --"
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 696 words
BUT YOU KISS ME WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK
By Carol Davis
Why do they bother working so hard to save anybody, he wonders, if the entire population is completely batshit crazy?
"Dude," Sam chides when Dean voices the question in the middle of the latest episode of My Strange Addiction.
Dean blinks at him.
Sam hikes an eyebrow.
"What?" Dean complains.
"You're gonna make judgments about a guy who's in love with his car? You?"
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again, because there's just no good way to respond to that. To any comparison between his…
Sam's eyebrow is still arched.
"You named the car," Sam says, flipping up an index finger. His middle finger pops up to join it as he continues. "You buy gifts for the car." Another finger. "You talk to the car. You have, in fact, been known to croon to the car."
Dean stares at him. "You suck," he announces.
It seems like a sufficient comeback.
The nutball on TV is talking again: a voiceover to footage of him tenderly kissing and caressing his car. This show's always been good for a laugh, Dean mourns - it focuses on people who eat sofa cushions, or cat food, or baby powder, surround themselves with teddy bears, or spend all their waking hours looking for roadkill to bury - though it always gives rise to that great philosophical question: are he and Sam risking their lives, time after time, just so these fruit loops can carry on with the crazy?
But tonight? Tonight, he should have opted for watching Snooki & JWoww instead. He kind of likes Snooki. She's a little off the beaten path, her own particular brand of pie-eyed crazy, but she reminds him of a chubby little dark-haired waitress, a nice little neighborhood bar, a weekend when he was nineteen and he and Dad and Sam were still a unit. Fractious, but a unit.
The freakin' guy's licking his car.
"I do NOT -" Dean protests. "And I NEVER -"
He full expects Sam to cave, because this nonsense is over the line. In fact, it's not only over the line, it's all the way down the road into a whole other state.
But Sam just smirks.
"You SUCK," Dean informs him.
Sam points to the TV.
The guy's…
What the HELL.
He's gonna hump the car.
Finding the remote takes way too long. Circuits blown, Dean frantically thumbs buttons, raising and lowering the volume, pulling up the COLOR BALANCE menu, then the closed captioning. By the time he manages to change the channel, his brain is blatting at him like the alert signal for the Emergency Broadcast System.
The next channel up, thank you GOD, is a cooking show.
"Duuuuuuude," he moans. "That crazy son of a bitch was -"
"Uh-huh," Sam concurs, and takes a long, apparently refreshing, pull of his beer. "But, you know, it kind of makes sense. He doesn't need to worry about unplanned pregnancy. Although… it might be kind of cute. Little bouncing baby Smart Car. Go-cart, maybe. Mini-bike…"
All Dean can do is stare.
"There's something wrong with you," he tells his brother.
"All relative," Sam replies.
"I do not. And I NEVER. I have sex with women, you asshat."
He's hyperventilating, he realizes. Which might be some form of that "protesting too much" that Sam cites to now and then.
And Sam's still smirking.
In fact, Sam's still smirking when Dean emerges from the bathroom after twenty minutes of washing the skeeve off himself in a steaming hot shower. It didn't exactly work; his brain's still full of images of that freakazoid kissing his car. For all he knows, he'll dream about unnatural acts with cars all night long.
It's enough to make a guy swear off sleep.
But the universe is kind, now and then. Turns out there's a marathon of My Strange Addiction on tonight, and when Sam flips the channel back to TLC, hoping to find something he can use to continue tweaking Dean, the host is talking to a chick who's hooked on drinking urine.
The way Sam's face drains of color?
CLASSIC.
"Relative," Dean calls out as Sam flees into the bathroom. "Definitely, dude. The crazy? It's all relative."
* * * * *